


What's in a Wish?

by jsymo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Adorable Sammy, Alternate Universe - Not Hunters, Baby Moose, Bartender!Cas, Curses, Diapers, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, I saw someone use that tag once, I will apologize when I'm Dead, Infantilism, Little!Sam, M/M, Non-Hunting AU, Sorry Not Sorry, Tattooed Castiel, eventual destiel, mechanic!Dean, non consensual infantilism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-01 14:19:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4023034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jsymo/pseuds/jsymo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's tired and depressed. His life consists of working to put his little brother through school and hanging out at a bar to be with his quasi-best friend and bartender Castiel Novak. </p>
<p>One night he's pretty drunk and hooks up with some girl who gets him to spill the wish that's on his mind.</p>
<p>Little does he know he'll get his wish.</p>
<p>He's now struggling to figure out to how re-raise Sammy with his not friend, turned friend, turned kind of boyfriend. And when he finds the three of them smiling like he's never seen before he knows that he wouldn't have his life any other way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drink Up Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> I wish I know how this thing started. But I couldn't sleep the other night, and for some reason I kept thinking about two things, 1. how people have rarely written about Baby Sammy - and how have we done ourselves the disservice of missing out on that bundle of cuteness? - and 2. this old story called "The Monkey's Paw". (Don't try and understand my inner thinking, I was mostly drunk and you'll end up with a headache.) 
> 
> That resulted in me pulling up a notepad app on my phone and texting out this first chapter. 
> 
> I've cleaned it up and decided to post it because I can :)
> 
>  
> 
> Mazel Tov, Bitches

Dean drops the socket wrench he's been using to abuse the breaks on Mrs. Donovan's station wagon and he grabs the bottle of Gatorade that's been left by his elbow where he lies on the creeper.

It’s got a squeeze top, which means Dean doesn't have to lift his head from the hard vinyl pillow he's resting on. He squeezes the bottle and the drink gushes into his mouth. Little dribbles of the liquid escape out of the corners of his mouth and he catches them with the back of his hand before he squeezes out some more. 

When the bottle is half empty he tightens the lid and rests both bottle and hands on his chest. He decides that closing his eyes – just for a few minutes – will do him good.

He doesn't notice when he drifts off into a light sleep.

Sometime later the sound of metal on concrete startles him awake and he narrowly misses smacking his head on the underside of the vehicle. 

"You still here?" A rough voice grumbles.

"Yeah," Dean's own voice sounds rough, Batman rough.

Heavy boot steps approach and soon Dean's looking up to spy the garage manager, Jim, staring disapprovingly at him.

"Thought I told you to go home."

"You did," Dean responds, rubbing a greasy hand over his face and eyes.

"Then what the hell are you doing here?"

Dean stares up at him and shrugs. 

Jim lets out a deep breath. "Dean overtime is great and all. And I appreciate you staying late so we can take on extra business. It’s why I don't mind having you here extra. But what's a fatter paycheck good for if you're running yourself dry to do it."

Dean scoots himself further out into the room on the creeper and shakes his head. "It's good for Sammy."

It's their age old argument. Jim claiming that Dean works too hard, Dean claiming that it's all for his little brother. 

Neither of them have gotten anywhere over the months in convincing the other one that they're right. Jim and Dean will just keep arguing the same point. 

"I think you should head home Dean."

"I've just got -"

"To be heading home."

Dean scratches the back of his neck and knows that if Jim asks him twice then Dean isn't going to get his way.

"Can I finish this up?" 

"No, you can take care of it tomorrow when you show up at the ass-crack of dawn."

Dean grabs his drink and squeezes another large gulp into his mouth. He still had his assortment of tools about the shop floor, not to mention a handful of bolts and other parts in a bucket he carries around from job to job to keep from losing the tiny random parts.

He doesn’t want to leave them sitting out, but Jim isn’t going to give him much of a choice.

"Guess I'll see you tomorrow," he mutters, and takes Jim's offered hand to help get off the creeper. "Thanks for the Gatorade," he says as he swipes his keys off his spot at the work bench.

Jim waves him off and goes about doing whatever it is he had been doing before. Dean suspects Jim bought a new toolbox and was finding a new home for it in the shop. 

When Dean steps outside the sun is already set, which really doesn't say much. It's late September and the sun is setting earlier and earlier each day. 

Dean pulls out his phone and checks the time. 7:30. it means he stuck around an extra two hours and that Sam should beat him home to the apartment. That's assuming that he wasn't sticking around the library for extra studying – not that he can't study at home, but Sam says that the old feel of the library building makes him feel _more academic_ or some shit –  
but with no text messages, no missed calls and no voicemails, Dean thinks that Sam's probably already on the bus on his way back. 

Dean hops in his car and heads home.

When he pulls up to their apartment he can see that the windows are all still dark, which means that Sammy still isn't home yet. 

Dean makes his way into the apartment and immediately sets about getting dinner ready. All that they have left at the moment is a box of store brand spiral noodle cheese and broccoli mix. It isn't real broccoli, like what Sammy would want, but the dehydrated bits of green in the dish always makes Dean feel like he's feeding his little brother a healthier meal than what he actually is.

He's just setting the pot onto a cool burner – pasta all cooked up – when Sam comes into the apartment.

"Hey Dean."

"Sammy, how was class?"

Sam flops down in his designated spot at their kitchen table that they found fourth-hand from a couple of kids who were moving out of their dorm and graduating, so the rickety set was no longer necessary. 

But for sixty bucks it was perfect for Sam and Dean's needs.

Dean sets a bowl in front of his brother and drops a fork into his hand.

"Careful, it's hot," Dean warns.

He can see Sammy roll his eyes, but the teen humors him with a "yes, Dean," anyways.

Sam shoves a forkful of the steaming cheesy goop into his mouth and breathes out the steam as he talks.

"Was good," he says, breathing out steam like a rebellious little dragon, answering Dean’s initial question.

Dean grabs himself a beer and sits down with his own bowl.

"Did you talk to the people in the financial office about your health insurance?" He asks.

Sam sighs, and Dean knows that it means his little brother isn't going to be sharing good news.

"Yeah, and they said that if I didn't have my own health insurance provider that I couldn't get it removed from my account. It's campus policy that all full time students have to have medical coverage of some kind."

Dean frowns into his bowl and moves around a forkful of his food. 

"Dean, I'm sorry."

"It's okay Sam, we'll figure it out."

He feels the stare of his younger brother on him as he forces his way through his meal. Sam's health insurance through the school is causing Dean financial trouble. Sammy was smart enough to get a full ride to school, but it unfortunately didn't account for a living place for Dean. In order to accept the full ride Sammy would have had to live on campus, which meant that Dean would have to fund not only an apartment for himself, but include furniture for his little brother as well as an extra three grand a semester for the dining costs, because schools never let in on the fact that academic scholarships don't cover absolutely _everything_.

All of this was on top of the fact that neither brother wanted to live apart, and campus housing wouldn't make any exceptions to allow Dean to live with his brother.

So instead of the full ride Sam was forced into accepting the second best offer the school had made. 

It covered damn near all of his tuition for four years, minus two grand each semester. But the biggest problem was the 1600 a year fee for health insurance. Dean had been down to the financial office numerous times already asking the bill to be removed, but no one had budged. 

He'd brought in health reports from the clinic, Sammy's medical history, and stated that Sam wasn’t going to sign up for sports, so there was no reason to get him covered.

They never dropped the charge.

He assumed if anything would sway the penny-pinching hard-ons in the front office it would be Sammy, in his too big hand me downs, and big brown puppy dog eyes. 

But no. 

All Dean got was another firm kick the boys.

Dean stared down at his bowl. He had eaten roughly half of the noodle concoction, but couldn't stomach anymore. So he swapped his bowl for Sammy’s empty one and threw the dirty one in the sink. 

"I'm going to head to Jimmy's," he announced.

Sam merely nodded and remained silent as Dean stepped out of the apartment. 

Jimmy's was a bar. A dive bar to be exact. It looked about as dirty as they come on the outside, but inside was the cleanest, cheese smelling, stereotypical run down bar Dean has ever seen.  
He likes the fact that the wings are a few bucks, the beers on tap are a few bucks, the conversation is low, the music is great, and the bartender has an ass that Dean can stare at all night. 

It's also just a block away from the apartment. 

It's September, which means Madison is just cold enough at night to bring goose bumps to Dean's arms, and he wishes that he would have worn something other than a second-rate Henley he had picked up at a thrift store last winter. 

A few beers though and he'd be warm enough to walk back after an hour. 

He pushes through the front entrance and is struck by the smell of Miller-Lite and hot wings. 

He feels his appetite come back.

Dean makes his way through to the bar and takes his usual seat.

He sees a few of the regulars on his way, the ones who are quiet and respectful like himself. But there are also a few college students as well, the ones he tells Sammy not to associate with, the ones who party too much on Mommy and Daddy's dime. 

Dean never has to remind Sammy about avoiding those douches. Sammy’s too good for em anyways. 

He takes his seat and looks up at the neon sign behind the bar. _"Sex on the Beach means Clothing is Optional"_.

It's always been up there, and one of these days Dean is going to find the courage to use the sign as a pick up for the bartender. 

"Hey Dean."

That day is not today.

"Cas," Dean greets the man who walks up in front of him. 

"Usual?"

"Please."

Cas gives him a nod and walks to the kitchen window to shout Dean's order before pulling up to the tap and pouring out Dean's beer.

Dean likes staring at Cas like one does an ice cube on a hundred degree day.

It's a lust. A need. Its torture and sweet desire all rolled up into a sexy package that would look beautiful pinned underneath of him, or looming over top of him. Either way is fine, Dean isn’t picky.

Cas brings Dean's beer over, a nice thick head on it, destined to give Dean that little foam mustache that he loves. 

It lets him lick his lips repeatedly. 

It turns him into a barely appropriate display of sexual energy.

When Cas drops Dean's beer off he's able to spy Cas' arms, which – other than the man's ass, shoulders, back, chest, thighs or chin – is Dean's favorite part of the man. They're covered in tattoos. 

He stares at them as he takes a drink.

The forearms, starting at the wrists, are almost all black for the first few inches. But then it cuts away and starts in on a horizon of trees that try reaching for his elbow. The image of hundreds of trees stacked on each other is mesmerizing. And it took Dean a lot of staring to realize that there was more to the tattoo than trees. Hidden items are scattered about the black foliage, such as the skull in the inside of his right forearm, or the hummingbird on the outside of his left about an inch below his elbow. It’s all black except for a red ‘J’ on the inside of his left wrist. Smack dab in the middle of all the black. 

It’s a beautiful thing to look at, and Dean has often lost himself in the forest of Castiel's arms.  
"So how are you today Dean?"

Dean smiles and licks away the foam clinging to his lip. Snippets of chitchat with Cas are always good. They make Dean feel less like a piece of shit, like his life may actually accomplish something someday. 

"Better now."

Cas' eyebrow quirks. "Yeah? Why's that?"

Dean shrugs. "I always feel better being here," not like it's a secret, "I'm always a fan of places with two dollar beers and three dollar wings."

Cas smiles at his tease, "and the flirting has nothing to do with it?"

"Nah, could get that over the phone with a hooker."

"Well, I'm prettier than a hooker."

"You certainly are."

Cas huffs a laugh and walks away.

That will conclude their conversation for the night.

Cas will stop by exactly twice. Once to refill Dean's beer, and to drop off his wings.

Dean will watch Cas go by for an hour which is how long it takes to eat his six wings and drink his two beers. 

Fetching drinks and other items for customers will cause Cas to reach for top shelves, and his shirt will ride up enough for Dean to spy strips of skin, on his back he will see the edges of another tattoo, and on the man's stomach will be a soft spot for him to sink his teeth into.

Dean will get an erection when he thinks about adding his own mark to the already marked up man. 

When he's done he will toss a ten onto the counter and leave without another word.  
And when he gets back Sammy will be done with his homework and asleep in front of the TV.

Dean will carry him to bed, tugging off the boy's jeans so he's more comfortable. Sammy will wake up and assist Dean before flopping back down and passing out. 

Dean will return to his own room and jerk off thinking about trees. 

The next day is set for repeat.

*****

Dean is on break. Though it’s not a restful one. He is out in his car, window down, a cigarette between his lips. His hands are shaking with stress. He takes it deep draw from the smoking paper and lets the air sit in his lungs before he lets it go. People may call them cancer sticks but to him he can feel the stress leave whenever he lets go every breath. It has been a stressful morning.

He had been on the phone all morning, on and off with the loan provider for Sammy’s remaining two grand a semester for his tuition. He’s been hoping to get the interest rate reduced, as their credit sucks, and the interest rate alone makes up most of Dean’s monthly payment. 

He was smart enough to put the loans in Sammy’s name. He knew that with him paying them off that the credit would boost Sammy’s scores, and that his little brother would have a better handle on life once college was over with them.

He feels the failure associated with not being able to take care of his brother properly. And the worst part is the fact that the standard hadn’t been set very high to begin with.

Money wasn’t a huge deal to the two brothers. Things had been tighter when they were younger, but Dean still feels like there’s a bar he can’t reach when it comes to his little brother. He feels his fingers grazing the goal he works so tirelessly to reach whenever he looks at Sam. Whenever he seems him wearing clothing that Dean’s bought for him second hand at thrift shops. Or whenever he cracks the spine on a third-rate textbook.

They aren’t necessarily hurting, but they aren’t swimming in wealth either.

Sammy has been pretty smart with things when it comes to school. Throughout high school Sam made sure to bring his grade reports to the bank. Sammy was enrolled in an honors program that shelled out 25 dollars for every A on the boy’s report card, and Sam made sure to never take a study hall throughout the four years so that he could count on that extra 25 bucks.

For college Sam signed up for financial aid for books. It paid him full price for brand new textbooks at the University book store, and the government wrote him a check for the full amount. Sam was smart enough to buy the books used online, which meant that he was able to pocket a few hundred extra at the beginning of the semester. 

So far no one had said bull about it. So they planned on doing that every semester.

And while Sam said that used books didn’t bother him – said that the books _smelled_ better – Dean could see the look on the boy’s face whenever he saw brand new books, with uncracked spines. 

Dean glanced at his cigarette. It was a bad habit – awful, he knew – but it kept his appetite curbed whenever he didn’t feel like trying to choke something down. He took another drag and tried to ignore the look of disappointment in Sammy’s face a few nights ago when his little brother learned that Dean had lied about quitting. 

He hated disappointing the kid.

His free hand was rubbing at the back of his neck. He felt a kink appearing, but no matter how he pressed on the tense muscle it refused to disappear.

Only a few minutes left on break before he has to go and explain to the jackass in the lobby why he can’t drive on his tires anymore if he wants to keep breathing. Dumbass is driving around with tires so bald it makes a cue ball look hairy.

He sucks down a breath and holds it as he flicks the cigarette out the window and rolls it up. He holds it until he’s stepping out of his car where he lets it go, because he doesn’t want the smell of tobacco to soak too deep into the leather. 

He isn’t even halfway back to the garage before he wants another. Just one more cigarette, and a long ass fucking nap.

*****

It's eight o'clock, but Sammy is at his work study job, so Dean's off the hook for dinner tonight as Sam always picks up something to eat on the way home. So instead of stopping by the apartment to make dinner he stopped by after work to shower and changed into something clean.

He's at Jimmy's now, and has already gone through his mandatory five minute conversation with Cas. His sights have changed for the night though, and while he's more than captivated with the bartender's ass – Cas was in dark grey skinny jeans tonight, they looked _obscene_ on his ass – but he's found a hot blonde that he's put dibs on for the night.

So far he's only had to buy her one drink and she's hanging off of him like he's bought her diamonds. He thinks he's one more drink away from getting laid.

"Be right back Sugar," he says with a lingering kiss to her lips before he slides out of the booth that they've holed up in. 

And Dean ain't Southern. He's a Midwestern boy to the core, but something about the suntanned blonde has him wishing they were in the heart of Texas. 

Perhaps it’s the idiom of 'everything is bigger in Texas' which meant he could magnify his dreams right along with his dick, that makes him want to belong to the state, but Dean's buzzed, and heading straight for drunk if he finishes the next beer he's gearing towards; so nothing is making sense to him, while being completely logical at the same time.

All he can think of at the moment is what is making him so giggly, _"only steers and queers come from Texas."_

"And I ain't got horns," he mutters to himself. 

He's also leaving with a girl tonight, so maybe he really isn't a Texan. Drunk or sober.

He frowns sadly, and hopes that 'Sugar' won't be too upset that she's picking up a non-Southern boy.

He stumbles up to the bar.

Maybe he is already drunk.

He holds up his hand to Cas when the man walks by and counts off two fingers.

"Two more," he giggles. 

Usually Cas isn't so bad at giving Dean what he wants. Their conversations might not be deep, but Cas knows Dean lives within walking distance.

Tonight, however, Cas looks less inclined to play along.

"Think you’ve had enough buddy," the bartender says sourly. Shooting disapproving looks at the blonde in the booth.

Dean scoffs.

"I've barely had four, y'know I can do better'n that." Is Deans retort.

"Yeah?" Cas says conspirationally, "then why are you using the bar as a clutch? Ask yourself that?"

And something in the way Cas says it makes Dean think, for about a second. 

"C'mon man, Sugar'n I _neeeed_ a beer."

Cas shoots another frown at blondie and looks back to Dean, hands on his hips. 

"Go home Dean. Alone."

"Pfft. Fuck you. Imma do what I want."

Cas scratches at his jaw and leans over the bar closer to Dean.

"Look man, I'm trying to look out for you here. Just go home and leave the bitch here. She's bad news."

Dean couldn't stop staring at the forest on the man's arms.

"You'rea bitch," he slurred absently, "sometimes I like to fuck the asses I stare at angel."

Dean went to turn from the bar. It seems as if Cas had dried up, so he was going to offer Sugar some of his whiskey at home.

A hand clamps around his wrist and something soft moves over his arm.

With his delayed motor response he wasn't able to turn toward Cas who had a hold of his arm until after the man let him go.

"That's for when you fuck up," he said, sounding utterly sad.

If Cas was so sad then Dean would have offered a three way, Dean could totally get behind Cas being behind him. 

Dean giggled. 

But Cas was working. He surely couldn't get off for a quickie – more giggles – could he? 

Probably not.

Poor Cas.

Dean reaches out and thinks he pats Cas' shoulder, but he feels something soft like an ear.

"M'sorry," he says before he stumbles back to Sugar. 

Dean's cognizant long enough to know that he got the blondie out if the bar and to his apartment. He remembers seeing Sammy’s backpack at the door, so he knew his little brother was home. He answered a lot of Sugar's questions about Sammy. About how he's so freaking smart.

He remembers wishing he could care for him better. But remembers nothing more.

*****

Dean wakes up groaning, and he immediately regrets every decision in his life that has led to the particular taste of death that is flavoring his tongue.

He smacks his lips together and rolls his dry tongue along the roof of his mouth. It sticks and tastes sour. 

He groans again and rolls so his face points _away_ from the pillow, so his breath isn’t thrown back in his face.

The sun is utterly too bright and he’s grateful for the knowledge that it’s his off day. 

Dean decides to warm his bed a little longer before trekking into the bathroom and it’s when he’s glancing down at his dick that he notices a ring of pastel red clinging to the base. He runs his thumb across it as he pisses and smears the substance between his fingers closer to his face. 

Lipstick?

He’s suddenly reminded of the blonde whom he reverently referred to as ‘Sugar’ last night, as he couldn’t remember her name, couldn’t remember if she had even given him a name.

Dean frowns as he shakes himself off.

Actually, now that he thinks about it she _hadn’t_ given him a name. Her response had been, _“Just call me Sugar, sugar.”_

Is that why Dean had been talking about Texas all night?

God he needs to stop drinking.

He meanders back into his bedroom and surveys the room blankly as he thinks. His hangover isn’t too bad, which is surprising considering how drunk he was last night. But other than the bad taste in his mouth he feels great. 

He kicks around the dirty clothing that lingers about his bed looking for the evidence of a condom wrapper. He doesn’t find anything on the floor, in his sheets, or in the trash. So he’s assuming that other than getting his dick sucked that he and blondie probably didn’t have sex last night.

And judging from the fact that Dean doesn’t remember it he’s going to guess that ‘Sugar’  
wasn’t any good. 

No wonder he had turned away full blown sex.

Dean makes his way into the kitchen, scratching low on his belly as he thinks about what he’ll have for breakfast. 

The kitchen is empty and clean, which means that Sammy probably already came through and cleaned up after himself. Probably had some of that sugary breakfast cereal he loves. 

Dean opens the cabinet where the cereal boxes are kept and grabs Sam’s favorite, Lucky Charms. Dean isn’t a fan of it, but the sugar sounds fantastic right now.

He pours himself a bowl and starts eating. It’s quiet in the apartment, but he likes it that way. Quiet lets him think.

He’s just finished his breakfast when he gets up to drop his bowl in the sink and he freezes. Sammy’s backpack is still by the front door.

Dean puts his bowl back on the table and frowns. He knows for a fact that Sam has a morning class that he has to be at, so if he’s still at the apartment it had better be for a good reason.

Hoping that his little brother isn’t experiencing an illness that makes use of the word ‘explosive’ he approaches Sammy’s bedroom, he knocks once before going in.

“Sammy? You okay in there buddy?”

He peers into the room and his eyebrows draw together in confusion. 

It’s empty. 

He’s just about to turn away when he smells something off.

His curiosity is peaked enough for him to take another step into the room and he spies something wiggle in the center of Sam’s bed.

He rips the sheet down and gasps.

A tiny looking two year old is sitting naked in the middle of a wet spot on the bed. His hair is the color of chocolate and looks perpetually messy. There’s a familiar mole by his little button nose and he’s achingly adorable.

He’s asleep, or, he was, as the sudden chill surrounding his body causes two beautiful hazel eyes to open and look up at Dean – and if he hadn’t seen those eyes everyday of his life he isn’t sure he would have believed the sight before him. 

_“Sammy?”_


	2. Monkey's Paw, huh?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The plot at the beginning of this story is extraordinarily flimsy. Dean is waay too cool about this situation, I know. Just roll with it and we can get to fluffy goodness. it's like the literary equivalent of whipped cream!
> 
> 2\. All John Winchester lovers beware. I don't mind JW lovers, but in my fics he's kind of a dick. Oops. (I also apologize for his deplorable language used in this chapter.)
> 
> 3\. Just like my other infantilism fic 'Cursed Blessings' there is no plot here folks, but suggestions for scenes and adorableness are always encouraged and welcome :)
> 
> 4\. There is a POV change in the chapter. This is deliberate. I spend way too much of my time binge-reading the incredible works of Deadmockingbirds, and all of her stuff is in first person POV. I've never written in this perspective before, but I really want to give it a go! (fingers crossed that imitation is indeed flattery and that I'm not disgracing her works!)

Dean stared at the little boy – at little _Sammy_ – before him for only a moment. As when the little boy let out a fearful, whimpered yelp he immediately swept down and plucked the little guy off the too large bed.

Sammy’s little arms curled around Dean's neck on instinct and his naked little legs tucked themselves up on Dean's hip. 

The lack of his own t-shirt let Dean feel the dampness that stuck to Sammy's chubby little thighs and Dean glanced down to the wet sheets. Putting two and two together.

"Right," he said turning to walk the two of them out of the room.

He intended on going to the bathroom to clean his little brother up – caring for Sammy was second nature, it came so _naturally_ to him even if the situation wasn’t – but he was sidetracked by the sound of unhappy tears and whimpers coming from the small boy.

Dean hesitated before quickly marching into the bathroom and sitting on the closed toilet lid where he could rearrange the naked toddler on his lap in order to spy his face better.

Sammy looked so fearful and his little body was downright vibrating with panic-fueled tremors. Dean didn’t know what to do first.

"Uhm," he began, trying to think of something to say.

Sammy’s large hazel eyes looked up at him, and glazed over with tears while set in such an adorable face Sammy looked downright _lethal_.

"Can you understand me Bud?" He asked, rubbing his hand over his brother's back in a way that always used to calm him down. 

The comforting touches must have helped some, as the shaking lessened, but Sammy's only response was to glance up at him. He made no attempt to answer.

Right. Probably couldn't understand him then.

Dean made a mental decision to put on a brave face and care for his toddler brother as best as he could without questioning the situation before he found an appropriate time to panic.

"Let's get you cleaned up Bud," he murmured, standing up in front of the sink. 

He was able to cradle Sammy safely in one arm while wetting a face towel and rubbing off all the yucky stuff from Sammy's thighs, backside and groin. It all looked a little red and Sammy made an unhappy face accompanied by squirmy kicks and grunts, so Dean was betting on a diaper rash from sitting in soiled sheets for so long. 

Once that was finished Dean went to toss the towel into the hamper when something in the reflection in the mirror caught his attention. 

He brought his arm back into focus while automatically adjusting Sammy who had started wiggling in his attempt to move higher up on his shoulder. It seems the little boy was captivated with Dean's freckles. 

Dean was able to easily ignore his squirming brother in favor of scrutinizing what appeared to be black sharpie marks along his left forearm.

It took some turning and squinting, but eventually he found a name that went along with an obvious phone number. 

_Cas_

Dean was a little fuzzy on details from the night before – understandably – but he did in fact remember an altercation with the bartender. 

What had he said? _"That's for when you fuck up?"_

Dean looked to Sammy who was patting at his nine AM five-o'clock shadow.

Did this count as a fuck up?

He would soon find out. 

Sammy made an unhappy grunting sound, and, thanks to years of caring for his whiny petulant little brother in near-negligent conditions for children, Dean knew it was a hunger grunt.

He walked back out to the kitchen and sat down at the table with Sammy on his lap. Grateful that he hadn’t put the cereal away he grabbed a handful of Lucky Charms and dumped them on the table within reaching distance of Sammy’s shortened arms. 

With his little brother preoccupied with breakfast he dialed the number on his arm and waited for a response.

The voice that greeted him was rough and low sounding, as if the man had just woken up.

"Cas?" Dean questioned upon receiving a granted hello.

"Yes?" The man prodded, unsure.

"It's me, uh, it's Dean," he took a breath and looked down to his little brother munching on a crunchy cereal marshmallow. His little brother who was supposed to be taller than him and who was supposed to be crushing him if he would sit on Dean's lap.

"Cas. I think I fucked up."

***** 

Castiel hung up with Dean without letting the other man know that he was concerned. He had watched last night as Dean stumbled out of the bar, blonde bitch throwing a knowing smirk his direction before looping her arm around Dean's elbow.

Dean was a good kid, he's always thought of him that way even though Cas could tell he was only a couple of years older than the man, but it didn't matter. Dean was a good kid, and Cas was going to help.

He rolled out of bed and pulled on the jeans he had hastily discarded last night. 

His night had ended late. A group of recently upgraded juniors at the local college were out celebrating the fact that everyone in their stupid fucking group had turned twenty-one. He hated listening to them chirping all night. Dancing like a bunch of morons who had no parents. 

But they paid with cash, and seemed to have fat wallets. So Cas didn't mind sticking around an extra two hours after closing for the extra money.

Truth be told they were drinking a two dollar shot special. One that Cas made himself called 'Kool-Aid'. And with six different types of alcohol and sugar the person drinking it always ended up doing two things, 1 ordering a whole tray if em, and 2 craving hot wings like you just lit up.

Cas couldn't help but smile as he tugged his pants on as he thought about the fact that he had actually planned on dumping the specialty shots at the end if the night. The drink had the nasty side-effect of turning sour when it sat too long. And those dumbass juniors saved him from having to toss the remainder of an entire batch.

Dumbasses. 

He grabbed the keys to his bike and made his way out of his apartment to make the fifteen minute ride to the address Dean had given him.

It was a cool morning, soon Cas would have to trade in his lightweight jacket for his heavier leather one, but he figured as long as he could handle the sharp breezes on his arms and chest for another few weeks that he'd tough it out. 

Cas pulled up to the apartment building that Dean lived in and parked next to a car that demanded he sat for a minute and admired her beauty. It was a Chevy, Impala, sixty-seven? 

He reached out and brushed the back of his knuckle over the curve of the passenger's side mirror with a smile before he swung off his bike and walked inside.

He quickly made his way to Dean's apartment, 5C, and rapped his knuckles across the wood.

"Just a second," was called from the other side, and Cas shoved his hands in his front pockets as he waited.

He heard soft thudding approach and glanced up as the door opened to reveal Dean. Cas was expecting Dean to be in pajamas – his soft green flannel pants looked cozy, and his ruffled hair was adorable – he however wasn't prepared for Dean to be topless or to have a baby propped on his hip.

"Cas, thanks for coming over," Dean breathed, stepping back to admit Cas entry.

Cas shrugged and stepped forward, taking his jacket off as he did so. He couldn't help but look around the room he was walking into. 

The apartment was basic. It opened right up into a kitchen which featured formica and linoleum, and continued into a small living room which held a few bookshelves, a worn couch and an outdated TV. A small table with three chairs was wedged between the two 'rooms'. 

Three doors were cut into the far wall which Cas could only assume led to bedrooms and a bathroom.

The entire space was clean and clutter free, but there was a sad fact to the cleanliness, it spoke to a lack of possessions to cause clutter as opposed to a person who was adamant in cleaning up after himself. 

Cas turned back around and watched as Dean closed the door and moved to drop the little boy off in the living room. Dean stood up and Cas could see him visibly pause before bending over and shoving a coffee table a few feet off to the side. 

He turned back to Cas and threw his arms out to the side before letting them drop back down.

"So how did you fu – uh, mess up?"

Dean walked over to the kitchen table and sat down, throwing his shoulders in a way that spoke of world weariness. 

Cas shifted on his feet and glanced back around the apartment, trying to find _something_ that seemed out of place or missing. 

His eyes landed on the little boy, who was trying to turn his head around like an owl to spy Cas. 

"So where's his mom?" He asked, gesturing to the boy with his head before sitting down across from Dean, lying his jacket on the table.

The other man scratched at his neck and sighed. "She's dead now." 

There was something in the way Dean said that which made Cas' heart drop.

"Oh Dean, I'm so sorry," he reaches out to start consoling, but Dean doesn't look nearly as upset as Cas imagined he would.

"Nah, it's fine. Happened a long time ago," Dean waves him.

Cas licks his lips and leans a little closer. "Dean, what exactly did you mess up?"

Dean wipes a hand over his face a d let's it drop to the tabletop. "Who was that girl?"

Straight to it then. 

"There isn't much to tell," Cas begins softly.

"What's her name?"

That's a simple one. "Dunno. When I met her she had me call her honey."

Dean's lips pulled up in thought, "I called her Sugar."

Cas nodded.

"But to answer your question. I don't know. All I know is that she grants wishes."

"Grants wishes? Like a fu –" he breaks off and clears his throat, his head twitches as if he's about to look at the little boy behind him. "Like a genie?" He finished without the original heat to his words.

Cas shakes his head, "no, she grants wishes like a monkey's paw."

"A monkey's paw?"

"Yes. There are stories about cursed objects, have you ever researched them?"

Cas glances up to see a look of disbelief cross Dean's face.

The other man shakes his head – not in answer, but as if he's shaking something off. He mutters something that sounds like "if it had been any other morning..."

Cas elects to continue. "You've heard of a lucky rabbit’s foot, surely. An object bewitched to offer streaks of great luck. But there is something else that’s very similar; it’s called a monkey's paw."

"Yeah, you've said that," Dean interrupts, sounding irritated. 

"A monkey's paw grants wishes. But instead of getting them right, a monkey's paw always grants wishes with a twist."

"Why?"

Cas sighs. 

Looks like all of his pointless research will have paid off for something. 

"Apparently the first ever created monkey's paw was created at the time the Earth was born, when a Native American trickster spirit decided to prank one of the first humans. The human's were suffering from hunger. As they didn't know how to cultivate the soil. A trickster spirit appeared and said he could help, and the chieftain accepted this help. 

"So the trickster went out and cut the paw off if a monkey, and infused it with some of his magic. He went back to the chieftain and told him that the monkey's paw would grant each person in his village one wish. Story goes that the paw was only used once, by the chief. He wished for big, healthy plants for his people."

"Doesn't seem so bad," Dean cut in.

Cas nods his agreement, "it doesn't. But the next day after the chief's wish they woke up and their gardens were too big. Too full. And they were still growing. The village was at risk of being crushed by their plants they were so big. And eventually that's what happened." 

Cas shrugged. 

"The story goes that the trickster was so pleased with the outcome of the original paw that he made several more and spread them about the earth. It’s why every culture has its own myth about monkey's paws."

Dean goes quiet, thinking about Cas' story. And the only sound in the room comes from the little boy on the floor.

"Uh?"

"You're okay Buddy," Dean answers automatically. 

Cas leans over in his chair to see the curly haired little boy pulling himself up using the side of the couch so he can walk over to where Dean sits.

"Uh?" The little voice asks with his arms pointed up.

Dean lifts the little boy and arranges him on his lap. Once settled he pops a thumb in his mouth and throws two big brown eyes up at Cas. He smiles and gives a little wave, but the little boy loses interest and turns back to start playing with Dean's fingers.

That's when Cas notices what he's wearing. It appears to be one of Dean's shirts, and the long hanging hem has been tied to rest between the little boys legs. 

Shouldn't he have clothes?

Cas takes another look about the apartment. Better yet, shouldn't there be some other sign that a little boy lives in the apartment with Dean?

He's interrupted from his thoughts by Dean coming back online.

"So what you're telling me," Dean pauses – either for thought or for effect – "is that you _knew_ she was going to do this to me?"

Technically, Cas doesn’t even know what _this_ is yet.

"Yes."

Dean huffs out air and cups his hand around his mouth. "You couldn't have tried to help me out?"

"I tried telling you."

"I was drunk. Really Cas?" Dean sounds like he's chastising a child, "you couldn't have tried a little harder?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and tried to avoid Dean's eyes. Because, truthfully? He could have. He could have had Dean arrested for some chumped up charge in order to get him out of the bar alone. Or even the bitch… 

He could have let Dean keep drinking, knowing that Dean would pass out sooner or later and that he would have been safe. 

Point is, he could have done _something_.

But he didn't.

And Cas knew the reason why, he was just too much of a coward to admit it. Truth was that misery loves company. And part of Cas – that cold, dead and useless section of his heart – wanted someone else to feel that misery too.

He decided to avoid the question. 

"You're killing me over here Dean, what happened? What did she change?"

Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes. Tired couldn't even begin to describe the other man's look. 

"Cas," he said, lifting the little boy to sit him on the counter, and Cas immediately smiled at the bright, adorable face. "Meet my little brother, Sammy. He's seventeen."

*****

Okay. So maybe on second thought I shouldn't have announced the problem like I was ripping off a band-aid, but what other choice did I have? 

Sure subtlety is an option, but this wasn't exactly a situation I could ease Cas into – could I? 

Perhaps I should have. But c'mon, the guy seemed so prepared for it! Spouting all of that crap about monkey paws and shit. 

It wasn't like I expected him to turn into a friggin statue. Cause that's what happened. I had to go and blurt everything out and now Cas is frozen.

I shift Sammy on my lap, cause the little guy is all squirmy now that he's caught onto the fact that the unfamiliar guy with tattoos keeps staring at him. And I get it. To a little guy Cas looks kind of edgy, scary and a little intimidating.

But if Sam were his actual age Cas would probably look more like how I see him. Like a little black kitten who fell into some hair gel and thought he would try to make himself look tough.

I wasn't going to be the one to tell the guy he looked more likely to kiss someone's hand than bite it. It might ruin his mood, and he already had the look of kicked puppy about him, er, kitten.

Gotta keep my animals straight. 

"Is it reversible?" I ask, voice all fucking meek.

"Reversible?" He scoffs, and that breaks his funk, "The magic behind this originates to the dawn of time. The creation of the Earth itself. It's not exactly an easy thing to undo."

That doesn't answer my question. 

"So...?"

He sighs, as if my questioning is bothering him. But how am I supposed to know if I don't ask?

"No. It isn't reversible." He says all slow, like I'm some idiot he has to speak carefully around.

His tone makes me feel so pathetic. And I'm thrust right back to the eighth grade when I had asked my dad about advanced classes in high school.

 _"AP?"_ he says all smug. _"why the fuck would they put a delinquent like you in AP? Bunch of morons running that school, I tell ya. They'll be lucky if you pass the classes for retards."_

I can almost smell the Jack Daniels in the air, and hold Sammy a little more snuggly for comfort.

"So what am I supposed to do?" My voice comes across all small, and I put aside my pride for the moment because Sammy's well-being is my principle concern. 

Cas shrugs unhelpfully and offers up a "buy some diapers." 

Asshat.

"That's it?"

"Pretty much."

Cas stands with his coat, and I'm terrified that I'm about to be left alone, even though Sammy is still here, and he's the one person on the planet I know best. 

"Cas?" I trail him to the front door. "Can you stick around for a little bit?"

His hand is already reaching for the doorknob as I ask, and I'm worried he's going to come up with an excuse to leave.

"Um. Don't you think you'd be more comfortable asking a friend?"

And see? He _sounds_ sincere in his question. Like he honestly wants me to be with someone a little closer to me. But what he doesn't know is that I don't have anyone.

"Thought I was."

There's a moment of awkward silence to the air after that. 

My face goes all fucking hot, embarrassed that I said that out loud. 

I'm just about to take back what I said when Sammy decides to get all cutesy and reach for Cas like he wants to be held.

"You want to come to me big guy?" 

Cas shocks me by reaching out and slipping his hands under Sammy's arms and bringing him to his chest. 

I can't help but smile as I watch Sammy feel along Cas' arms. His little fingers touching the inky tattoos that I've longed to trace.

"You are pretty cute," Cas says off-handedly. 

"He always has been."

Cas adjusts Sam a little higher on his hip and looks into his eyes. "So do you think Sammy is still the same on the inside?"

"You don't know him enough to call him that," I say reaching out to push Sammy's hair from his face. "And no. He doesn't seem to remember being older."

At least I didn't think he did.

"Yeah."

And that wasn't Cas.

"Yeah?" I parrot looking into Sammy's eyes. "Do you remember being older Buddy?"

"Yeah."

I'm about to apologize to Sam for doing this to him, but he already seems to have changed topics. 

"Dee?" 

"Yeah Bud?"

"Potty."

"Potty?"

I'm about to make a grab for him, when Cas jerks and holds Sam away from his body. He's too late though, and my leaking little brother has already peed all over Cas' shirt and jeans. The shirt I tied around the toddler isn't even offering the illusion of coverage anymore and is dripping.

"Oh shit! Sorry! Sorry!" I panic and grab Sammy, rushing him over to the kitchen and depositing him in the clean half of the kitchen sink. My panic was the wrong reaction however, as Sammy starts wailing immediately 

"No, no! You're fine sweetheart. You're okay." 

Sammy's all upset. From my tone and actions he gets the impression that he's done something to upset me, and his little arms reach up for a hug. He's covered in pee though, and I don't quite fancy the idea of spending my first morning back on baby Sammy duty reliving the days where golden showers were the only ones I had time for.

I settle for quickly pulling my now soaked shirt off of him – making sure that Sammy's curly locks stay dry and clean – and hosing the little boy down in lukewarm water with the sprayer attachment. 

I'm just pulling him out for a cuddle when Cas nudges my elbow with a towel. It's one he pulled from our bathroom, and I'm thankful for something to wrap Sammy up in.

He still crying when I've got him all cuddled up, part of the towel acting as a hood, not cause his hair's wet, but because he's chilly and our apartment's insulation is shit.

"You're okay Buddy, it's okay," I say rubbing his back as he rubs at his glassy eyes. "Dee's sorry he scared you."

I prop my hip against the counter in front of the sink as I calm my little brother down, and I look over at Cas' uncertain eyes as I do so.

"Can I ask a favor?"

Cas glances between Sammy and me before he nods. 

"I need to go pick up some supplies, and I'd like it if you came with."

Cas looks like he's going to reject me like he did earlier.

"Why are you handling this all so calmly?"

I cock my head.

"I mean, you woke up this morning to a situation that seems straight out of science fiction, and I offer you some cracked up explanation and you just take it all like it's normal. Like it's just everyday life. Why is that?"

"Good question, Cassie."

"Don't call me that."

I opt to ignore him and continue, "I don't know." I offer up a shrug to emphasize my lack of understanding. "I grew up with an open mind, y'know? Always figured stuff like witches were real. So why can't curses be real too?" 

I shift and hold Sammy a little higher to kiss his forehead. I don't let in on the fact that Sammy being in his current state actually eases more of my stress than it makes. 

Sammy would pop a blood vessel if he learned I preferred his pipsqueak size.

"But you didn't answer my question."

Cas' face blushes a little, "guess I haven't."

We're both kind of silent for a moment before Cas sighs. 

"Yeah, I guess I can help with that."

Thank fuck. 

Adjusting to the situation quickly or not I still didn't want to be left alone. God forbid I spiral into panic mode and Sammy is left to fend for himself.

I push away from the counter and pass off the snuggly bundle of Sam. 

"I'll go get something for us to change into."

Cas nods as he settles Sam on his chest. The little boy is sucking on his knuckles, and I worry that the cereal he ate wasn't enough to fill him up. We'll have to pick up some Sammy-safe snacks.

I change quickly into more publicly acceptable clothes and bring out a spare shirt and a pair of jeans for Cas, Sammy got him pretty good.

I come out and we exchange what we're holding. I take Sammy and stand him on the kitchen counter. I have an extra shirt – one of Sammy's old ones – and I start redressing my little boy.

"Ay chirt," he says all cute. And I know what he's trying to say because he said the same thing when he was a little boy the first time around.

"Is this Sammy's shirt?"

"Yeah."

I smile, and he's all wiggly as I tie the shirt between his legs once again. I have no clothes to cover the adorable little bug, but I have a pretty soft fleece blanket that I can wrap him up in. When I've got him in the store I can keep him in the seat of the cart where I won't have to worry about his nakedness being seen. 

Last thing I need is an undocumented little boy being noticed in my care when I don't have all of the proper items necessary to take care of him.

I scoop Sam up when I've got him all dressed and turn around expecting to see an empty kitchen, having assumed that Cas escaped to the bathroom to change his clothes. 

I wasn't expecting to turn and have the air knocked from my lungs as I spy Cas' naked backside, bent over as he pulls my jeans over his ass and settles it low on his hips. 

He's naked for a split second, but it's enough for me to spy the tattoo on his lower back that I've been dying to see for weeks. It's an angel, couching down with his wings spread. 

I also think I see something on the curve of his right ass cheek, but he's dressed too quickly for me to double check. 

Cas turns around – clutching his soiled clothes – and must notice me staring, as he clears his throat uncomfortably. 

"Can I have a bag for –" he waves his hand. 

"Of course," I retrieve a garbage bag from under the sink and hand it to him. 

He tosses his clothes in and ties the bag up.

"Um, you ready to go?" 

"Yeah."

I grab my keys and wallet and slip my feet into my shoes after grabbing a jacket for myself. We leave the apartment and I have Sammy bundled up in the blanket I pulled from the couch. 

The air is chilly outside, but with Sammy latched onto my body heat I'm not too worried. 

The three of us enter the parking lot and I notice Cas start walking down the sidewalk.

"Where are you going?" I ask all worried that he's going back on his offer to come with. 

"Aren't we walking?"

It's my turn to scoff, "no. Just because I walk to the bar it doesn’t mean that I don't have a car."

Cas smiles. "Okay, so which one is yours?" He asks, stepping up to my side.

"That baby right there," I declare. Pointing at the one girl who has never let me down a day in my life.

“This girl is yours?”

And I’m so fucking happy he already realizes that she’s my sexy _girl_.

“Hell yeah she is. Been mine since I was sixteen.”

Stretching the truth a bit there, but I was the only one who ever really drove her, so…

We climb in the front seat, and Sammy is still clinging to me like the adorable little monkey he can’t help being. But as soon as I shut the door his big brown eyes stare up at me in worry.

“Uh-oh.”

“Did Dee do an uh-oh?” I ask as I buckle in. 

I don’t have to elaborate on what the problem is. Now that we’ve established that there’s still a little bit of old Sammy left – I’m guessing he didn’t answer me the first time around because he couldn’t think past the shock, and I don’t blame him – I know that he’s thinking the same thing that I am: the logistics of driving when Sammy doesn’t have a car seat.

I’ve got this.

“Don’t worry Buddy, you’re going to be okay,” and don’t try this at home, but I come up with the best way that I have to keep him safe.

I unzip my jacket and tuck him inside before I zip it back up, blanket and all. I look like the friggin stay-puffed marshmallow man, but Sammy is giggling inside his little cocoon and he’s moderately safe.

It’s the best I can do.

I feel Cas staring at me, and I look over and offer the guy a shrug. 

What else am I supposed to do?

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” is Cas’ response.

I start my baby up, and drive the three of us to the store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again lovelies!
> 
> I just wanted to let you know that I have a few questions to answer regarding this story that I will get to in the coming chapters. So don't fret! If you are curious about an aspect to the story and want to make sure I address it then feel free to comment and say "Hey, Jsymo, what's up with Cas riding a motorcycle?" and I'll come back with "good question, citizen, you see...." and then I'll try to work it into the story. 
> 
> I suffer from a condition in which I think ya'll live inside my head and understand everything. sorry!
> 
>  
> 
> How are you feeling on this story by the way? 
> 
> Yay or nay?


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